Prayers of Desperation
by celinenaville
Summary: There is a first time Dean prays to Castiel, and then there is a moment in time when Castiel is so broken, their situations are reversed. His Grace weakening, Castiel is not familiar with the pains of being human and has only one being he can rely on... Dean Winchester.. The Righteous Man. Lots of hurt!Castiel. Non-slash. *FINALLY COMPLETED*
1. Chapter 1

**For Alex. At her request to write some "Dean and Cas awesomesauce." Here is my attempt...More to come later. This can be read as a ONE-SHOT although, there will be another few chapters.  
**

 **Set in Season 4. The first time Dean prays to Castiel is not what we saw on television. There was another time...earlier in their acquaintance.**

Dean was drowning. Air filled his lungs. He was lying on his motel room bed alone. But he was drowning. That could only be what this felt like. He fisted his hands into his sheets and curled in on himself, head turned into the pillow. He'd been drinking. Excessively. Trying to hit that point that sometimes numbed the pain, but today it wasn't working. Flashbacks plagued his mind, remnants of Hell he never seemed to be able to push out of his consciousness for long. When he'd been pulled from the pit, why hadn't they healed his mind as well?

What was the point of a brand new body if his mind was so broken there just weren't enough pieces to put back together?

 _Sammy._ Sammy had been the glue that Dean relied on to reattach those pieces and now...well things were so bad between them now that Sam, himself, was responsible for a good number of those shattered pieces. Dean couldn't think about it. Truly.

 _Dad. God Dad, why aren't you here? Oh right, you sold your SOUL to bring my sorry ass back into this plane of existence. What a great freaking job I've done with the second chance I never asked for._ Now the third chance.

Dean sat up. His stomach roiling. Anxiety washed through him and he took a shaky breath. _'It's okay.'_ He soothed himself. _Fuck. No it wasn't._ He wasn't stupid enough to believe his own lies. Even drunk.

He'd spent half an hour yelling and pleading to a God that either wasn't there or didn't give a shit. Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and set them on the floor. The motel room rug was soft under his bare feet. He needed help. He didn't understand how someone _could_ help him, but he couldn't do it alone. He ducked his head into his hands and closed his eyes, felt his jaw tremble as he fought tears. And then he found his lips whispering a broken prayer that followed his already pointless utterances of Sam and Dad. It was elegant in its simplicity. "Cas. Castiel."

The words had barely escaped his lips it seemed, when he sensed the presence behind him. Quiet. Powerful.

Dean turned his head. "Cas?" He said brokenly, unable to conceal his shock.

"Hello Dean."

Dean sat blinking stupidly.

Castiel's brow furrowed and he moved with his preternatural stealth to stand in front of the human, head tilted to the side, studying Dean as if he were an impossible puzzle. "You seem surprised."

Dean stared dumbly. "I..." He broke off. Uncertain what he even wanted to say. He'd been expecting no response; he expected to sit in the dim room repeating Castiel's name like a litany, like a mantra over and over. The name bringing comfort and pain at the same time- like the name 'Sammy.' Or 'Dad.' Bittersweet in its utter futility. "I didn't expect you to come."

"You called me." To Dean's surprise Castiel sank down onto his heels so that they were eye level. He looked at Dean with an uncomfortable intensity, something not quite HUMAN about the gaze. His trench coat pooled about his legs on the floor as he crouched, like the folded wings of a giant bird.

"Y...yes." Dean said hoarsely, trying to regain his balance.

He caught Cas's wince at the smell of his breath. "You've been drinking."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "When _haven't_ I been drinking?" He didn't understand how the Angel could be so obtuse sometimes.

Cas nodded, like it was a fair question; his gaze fell inward for a moment, the dark sweep of his lashes shuttering his eyes momentarily before he looked back up at Dean and locked him in his look like a rabbit in a snare. "Do you need my assistance?"

Dean's lips parted for a moment while he struggled to form a sentence. "I just..." he took a ragged breath. "I just needed a friend."

Castiel stood up to his full height and stepped back a few paces. His look became more remote. "We are not friends, Dean."

Dean felt the words land like a physical blow. His mouth worked for a moment, and he swallowed against the sudden tightness in this throat. His adam's apple bobbed against the taught cords of his neck. "Oh..."

Cas tilted his head once more at the abrupt vulnerability in the young man's expression. His blue eyes softened as he read the pain. "I've upset you?" The low tone of his voice pitched soothingly.

Hurt anger skittered across the human's features, the green eyes suddenly narrowed and guarded. "No. Of course not. Glad I know where I stand. Wouldn't want to think I meant something to you or anything. I mean that's just crazy."

Castiel watched the muscle in Dean's jaw jump. Tension. He was getting better at reading the physical tells and how they related to the hunter's emotions. They were so...fragile, these humans. Most Angels saw that fragility as weakness, as something to be derided.

He, himself, had been ambivalent in his years of watching the Earth. Humans were strange, unpredictable. But Dean fascinated Castiel. The bravery. The contradictions. The nobility. The jagged edges. All wrapped up in one person. Such an incredible creation of his father's expert hand.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I have more pressing matters to attend to. I cannot be your caretaker."

"No. That's fine," he said in a tone that indicated he thought Castiel's words were anything but fine. "I don't want you here to babysit."

"I...I don't understand. Why would you want me to sit on an infant?"

Dean wiped a hand over his face. "It's a turn of phrase, Cas." His tone was weary.

Humans employed a dizzying array of colloquialisms. Castiel barely had a handle on any of them. "Babysit." He repeated, testing out the words on his tongue. He looked at Dean again.

Lines were etched around his eyes and mouth. He looked...tired, but more than tired. Exhausted, hopeless, gutted somehow. Like whatever spark of spirit that made Dean Dean was guttering, a flame reaching the end of its wick. It made Castiel pause in taking his leave. "I cannot help you." The Angel's stoic face took on an expression of gentleness. "I wish that I could."

"Yeah," Dean said coldly. "I think you made that perfectly clear, Cas." He tried to leverage himself up and staggered precariously as he took to his feet. He leaned a hand against the headboard. "Go. We aren't friends. I don't want to take up more of your time."

Cas watched him, eyes filled with pity. "I _do_ care about what happens to you, Dean."

"Yeah well I guess that makes you the only one." Dean said breezily.

"You fool yourself..." the Angel replied, it was obvious that he was choosing his words with deliberation. "Sam cares. Bobby Singer cares. I am hardly the only one."

"Sam cares?" Dean snorted derisively.

"Sam carries his own burdens. He is set on a...dangerous path... but he does care, Dean."

Dean started to walk away from the bed, quickly decided that was a bad idea and flopped drunkenly back down on it, the springs creaking at his weight. "I can't do this, Cas." He said brokenly. "I can't..."

"You will..." Castiel drew closer and reached out a hand towards Dean's pained face.

Dean lifted his head and shied away, as if frightened. "What are you doing?"

Cas touched his fingers to the creased forehead and the feeling of vertigo eased slightly. Dean blinked, the loose-limbed relaxed feeling gone. "Oh God. Did you just make me sober? It took a lot of effort getting this drunk, Cas!"

Castiel's mouth crooked up into an almost smile. He rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. It was gentle, belying the Angel's power. "I can give you what you want from the alcohol."

Cas brushed a finger across Dean's temple. "Sleep."

Dean's eyes fluttered closed.

Castiel spared a moment to watch the chest rise and fall in time with the man's suddenly calm breathing. He doubted that Dean would remember any of this in the morning. He hadn't altered the hunter's memory. He didn't need to. The whiskey would do that.

He felt...pity for Dean. For both the Winchesters. Humans caught between the forces of Heaven and Hell. Not for the first time, he wondered if this half-broken soul was capable of shouldering the responsibility. Dean didn't even know the half of his part yet and already he was drowning. Castiel couldn't imagine the extra weight when he found out the truth. He wasn't sure if it had been much of a kindness to pull Dean from Hell only to dump him here. But it wasn't his place to question orders. He'd secretly done too much of that already. With an imperceptible nod, Castiel was gone.

Dean shifted in his slumber, rolling to his stomach. For a few brief hours he'd experience the one fleeting gift Castiel had been able to grant him. Peace...

 **I'm posting this at a weird time, but if there are any other insomniacs out there, please shoot me a review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Sweat soaked Castiel's bangs and ran into his eyes. It was a foreign sensation to him. So foreign that it cut through the pain that he was in-which was in and of itself- _foreign_. Angels felt pain, surely. Cas had experienced enough of that in his life, God knew, but the pain of this human vessel- _-that_ was different. That was nerve endings and synapses and brain chemistry- and stabbing, aching, pounding- so many different sensations, that it threatened to override his ability to speak entirely.

They left him gasping, panting and moaning, curled in on himself in the warded room that he couldn't pass through. His Grace, so severely weakened, was there enough to keep him from freeing himself. It was entirely odd. Not enough Grace to heal himself or truly be an angel, but enough to leave him hobbled. All the pain of being human with none of the benefits of being able to just walk out of the door.

Castiel lifted his head and the room spun dangerously. He pushed himself up on his hands, back muscles screaming in protest. An odd sensation started in the back of his throat and he swallowed it down, blinking. The burning liquid rose up again and Castiel's abdomen clenched and tightened until he vomited bile and blood. He groaned. That in and of itself was painful. Awful.

He felt a sensation of fear course through him. That was his vessel as well, he knew. Angels feared, yes. But this kind of anxious terror coursing through him was hormones and chemicals and sensations he didn't understand how to evaluate, much less _gain control of._ "Father," his voice was hoarse, sandpaper mixed with gravel. "Father. Help me."

He rose to his knees, panting from the effort, attempting to move away from his own effluvia. Shaking, he collapsed again. _Alone._ He was utterly alone. His cheek pressed to the cool concrete floor. Cold and unyielding as Heaven itself. "Father, _please_." He wasn't certain why he kept praying to God, who never answered his prayers, except that he was a creature of Faith. Programmed to be that way. And now he wanted comfort. Guidance. Wisdom.

"Father." It was so terrifying to be bound in his body. Trapped. His entire being hobbled into this human form. These human perceptions. Reduced to this fragile matter. He was going to be sick again. He pressed his forehead to the floor. "No, no, no." He felt his body rebel and he swallowed it back down, panting and spitting. "Father."

His stomach hurt. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees make himself smaller, trying to gain comfort from his own warmth. "Father." Tears gathered in his eyes, causing his vision to swim as he opened them. For a moment, he was fascinated with the way the water refracted the light, distorted the dimensions of the room. He thought of how life rose from the sea. -The first fish crawling to land, pulling itself along on awkward fins. It had to adapt to its new environment, learn to view things differently. Its eyes needed water to function, so it took the sea with it in its own salty tears. When humans cried, they were remembering the ocean that they came from.

Then the emotional pain hit him. He was betrayed by his own kin. Deserted. Helpless. Hated. Hunted. He was overwhelmed. His emotions struck him like a tidal wave, crashing over Castiel's consciousness, causing a different kind of pain that bloomed under his sternum. Tugging. Relentless. "Father," he cried again and his voice cracked. "Help me! I need help, please. I am your wayward son. I know this," He murmured from his side on the floor. He needed some sort of warmth. Something soft, not this unforgiving cement he'd been slammed into again and again. This rock hard _thing_ that leeched all the warmth from the room and bruised his knees where he'd been kneeling for hours. "I only wanted to serve You, Father. To do what is right. Please... help me." He rose to his hands and knees as he felt his stomach jump again. He swallowed fiercely, breathing through his nose. He didn't understand if it was from swallowing so much of his own blood, or fear (Did humans vomit from fear?) or shock or a concussion, but the nausea rolled over him in waves. _Alone. He was alone._ He had rebelled. Even after his re-education in Heaven. Perhaps he was on the wrong path. Perhaps his Father was punishing him. Perhaps he was irrevocably damaged. Unfit to be an Angel at all. When he was certain he wasn't going to throw up again, Castiel resumed his murmuring prayer. His vocal search for comfort. For something he loved. Something that would anchor him with its wisdom. Point him in the correct direction. Save him from the pain he was in. He was not even aware as his pleas moved from 'Father' to 'Dean.' If he were cognizant of it, he would have been shocked at his own blasphemy.

"Dean," he whispered brokenly, fingers trying to dig into the cement. He spit more blood pooling in his mouth from a broken molar and cut cheek. "Dean, please help me. Help me."

The nausea swept over him again and Castiel could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. The spasms of retching hurt his bruised body so badly that he felt he might lose consciousness. Which would be a blessing, he thought wryly. "Dean. Dean. D-" the name caught on a violent heave. His muscles tensed until he cried out in mid-gag. He felt an odd sensation of wet warmth trickle down the inside of his thigh and he collapsed back on the floor, vaguely aware enough to try to avoid the mess he'd made. If anyone had been there he'd have been ashamed. He was chastened. Angel of the Lord, lying in a pile of his vessel's vomit and sweat and blood, pleading, afraid, spent. He was a _soldier._ He fought the forces of Hell. He commanded armies. He smote ruin upon the wicked... and now he was trapped in this small, fragile body as vulnerable and frail as the humanity he so loved. The humanity he rebelled for. His blue eyes closed, the sweep of his dark lashes stark against his pallid skin.

The warded door pounded as if something was about to enter and Castiel felt a surge of pure adrenaline driven terror. "No. No more, please." He tried to move and couldn't get his arms or legs to obey.

The door cracked open and Castiel cringed, closing his eyes tighter. There was a hand on his bicep. Strong. Forceful. He cried out as it gripped tighter and hauled him out of his personal Hell.

"Cas! Easy, Cas," said a familiar voice, strong arms wrapped around him as his legs buckled and his weight sank back down, dragging the voice with him.

"Cas, buddy. Cas. _Hey!_ " The voice turned harsh, a gruff edge to it.

Castiel opened his eyes. "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean replied roughly as he struggled against the Angel's weight. "Need you to try to walk, buddy."

Castiel couldn't. He couldn't even coordinate his body to stand.

"Okay," Dean ground out. "The hard way." He tossed Castiel over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and staggered with him to the Impala. He dumped him into the passenger seat none too gently and Cas cried out.

"Okay, okay, buddy. It's okay." Dean crouched next to him, his fingers in the other man's dark mess of hair. "I gotcha, Cas. I'm gonna close the door now, okay?" He started to withdraw that warm human hand and Castiel grabbed it. "No. Please."

Puzzlement played over Dean's features. "Okay buddy," he said cautiously. Castiel gripped the hand in his own. The warmth pulsed through him. The _life force._

"Please." A tear slid down his cheek and he watched Dean's expression soften with it.

"Hey," Dean clasped his other hand over Castiel's. "It's okay. I'm here buddy. I'm not leaving you." He maintained the grip firmly for the space of a minute and locked Castiel with a pointed gaze. It felt odd to have the situation reversed, to have Dean's green eyes staring at _him_ with the intensity that the Angel usually employed when trying to get a read his on charge.

Castiel was too drained to return the look with any energy at all.

"Look at me, Cas."

Cas met the eye contact.

"I gotcha." Dean tightened his grip around Castiel's hand. A trace of anger flitted across his face. "When I catch those dicks, I'm gonna rip 'em apart with my bare hands."

Cas' head lolled back, his lids heavy and half closed. "That is an unwise plan, Dean. You can't tear Angels apart with your bare hands."

Dean's mouth quirked into a grin at the more in-character response from his friend. "Well, it won't be from lack of tryin.' "

Cas pulled his head up again. He blinked dazedly. "You came for me..."

"Of _course_ I did. You think I was going to _leave_ you there?"

Dean let his hands go and ducked out of the car. "Keep your leg in, the last thing I need is to slam your knee in the door." The door closed with a thump that shook the vehicle. Cas whimpered from being jostled.

Dean settled into the driver's side and glanced at his friend, who had slumped against the passenger window. "Hey buddy, hanging in there?"

"What am I supposed to hang from?" Came the laconic reply. There was silence for a moment and then Castiel opened his blue eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Dean looked perplexed. "For what?" He put a hand on the Angel's slight shoulder.

"I am afraid that I am soiling your car."

He saw Dean look him over, take in the blood already smearing the leather, the traces of spit on the ruined shirt, and settle for a second on the small wet spot on Castiel's lap. "Hey don't worry about it, huh? That's Sam's seat." He winked. His smile lit up the confines of the Impala's interior. Cas might have returned it if he were capable. He patted Castiel's shoulder roughly enough to make him wince and put his hands on the wheel. Baby roared forward.

And in that moment Castiel learned a dangerous lesson. Sometimes you could count on man more than you could count on God.


	3. Chapter 3

**Really this story was supposed to end with the last chapter. And if you like, please keep it that way, but a lot of readers wanted a little soothing after the Cas whump...so I continued. And was left with this. So another chapter will be forthcoming to tie it up.**

"Cas, I gotta lift you."

Castiel looked dazedly up at Dean as he leaned down into the car. Dean put his arm around Castiel's shoulders and braced his other hand against the door frame. It started snowing and the flakes dotted the hunter's jacket.

"Put your arms around my neck. Okay... One... two... _three_ -" Dean groaned as he shifted the slighter man's weight up and out of the vehicle. Cas cried out and Dean found himself wincing at the pain in the angel's voice. They staggered drunkenly a few steps towards the motel room door before Dean figured _fuck it_ and scooped up Cas bridal style.

He shouldered the door open and plopped his burden down onto the mattress.

Dean leaned over the angel, placed his fingers to the pulse point in Cas' neck. "Hey Cas... _Cas._ "

"Dean?"

"Yeah, stay with me, buddy."

"I'm far too weak to go anywhere, Dean."

Dean felt his throat close at the comfortingly familiar obtuseness in the reply. "Gotta fix you up, huh? It's not that bad... You'll be okay." He didn't know whether the lie was for himself or for the angel.

Castiel's pulse was too rapid and thready for Dean's liking. Dean let his hand drift from the neck to Castiel's chest under the pretense of offering comfort, but really in order to feel the rise and fall of the angel's breathing and evaluate his condition.

Cas' respiration was shallow and pained.

"Hey Cas." Dean said. He watched Castiel's eyes drift shut. "No. No, buddy, need you here." Dean patted the stubbled jawline. "Wake up! No drifting."

Castiel felt Dean take his hand off of him and move away. "Don't leave."

"Not leaving," came the hunter's gruff, soothing baritone. "Getting the med-kit."

Cas winced and shifted, bending his knee up, deciding that was a bad idea and moving it back to lie flat on the mattress. The pain was coming from all directions at once until he couldn't process a thought beyond it. He had suspected getting out of his prison would help, but somehow resting on the _softness_ brought out hurts he had known he had.

"Cas, you're not breathing, you gotta breathe, buddy." Dean's warm hand was on his shoulder again. He shook him softly, sending jolts of pain along his body. Castiel cried out and his eyes snapped open, startled by the intensity.

"Hey. Easy. Easy. It's okay. Gotta have you breathe, okay?" Dean's hands were hovering over him, afraid to touch.

Castiel tried to deepen his breaths, found that he couldn't without dizzying pain.

"You can do this." Dean's hands were on him-first his neck, gently prodding. Then his shoulders, and down his arms, business-like, brusque, carefully evaluating.

Castiel watched Dean's face in fascination. His green eyes were narrowed, stress lines around the corners, his jaw set in concentration. From this close range a million micro-expressions crossed the features as he studied Castiel's ailing vessel.

The hands moved to his chest, over the sternum, across the ribs. Castiel lost his ability to study Dean Winchester at this. The pain bloomed and he cried out.

"Easy. _Easy_ , Cas."

Cas didn't understand the expression. He knew it was meant to be comforting, could tell by the lilting tone and the uncharacteristic gentleness in Dean's voice as he said it. And it _was_ comforting... the way Dean dragged out the syllables and pitched his voice into a tone meant for a child...but the words themselves were lost on him. What about any of this was easy? This was hard. Very very hard.

Cas' groans turned into a keening cry as Dean's hands begin to palpate his abdomen. "No!" Cas grabbed the wrist. "Stop! Stop. No more."

Dean stilled, his fingers still pressing into Cas' stomach. "Okay, buddy. I get it. It _hurts._ I know." He pushed down a little firmer and moved his fingers from side to side, trying to get a feel for the damage underneath.

Cas needed a hospital. And of course the other flying dicks had dragged him two hours from fucking anywhere in the middle of a shitty snowstorm. Another cry, low guttural.

"Okay. Almost done." He moved his hands to Castiel's hips, pressing gently. "Not trying to get fresh here, just seeing how bad it is, okay?"

Cas bucked a little under his grip.

"Okay. Easy." Yeah, this was bad. This was so fucking bad. Dean wrinkled his nose at the stale smell of sweat and blood and urine. Castiel was a wreck. Dean wondered if he'd even be alive without the small traces of Grace still left in him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy. Still here." Cas reached out blindly and Dean grasped his hand without a second thought. He tangled his fingers with Castiel's. They were cold. Great. Cold extremities, shallow breathing, rapid heartbeat. Castiel was hovering just this side of full-blown shock. He needed a saline IV and Dean had fuck all to give him that would help stabilize him. He took a moment to let his mind race through his options.

"Cas. Do you feel like your batteries might recharge if we get you stabilized a little, get you some rest?"

Cas remained silent a moment and Dean wasn't sure if he'd even heard him. "My..." a breath, "Grace is very weak, Dean. I'm uncertain what I can do."

"Is it still there though?"

"My vessel is protesting... but... yes," another gasping breath. "Grace still here."

"Okay good." _Good,_ Dean thought. _If I keep him from dying outright he can heal himself eventually._

Without any Angel Mojo his injuries would likely mean multiple surgeries and months of recovery. Months they didn't have.

Another keening whimper.

Dean made the decision. "I'm going to be right back." He released the angel's hand. Cas reached out after him as the other man pulled away and left him in perdition.

* * *

"Dean... _Dean_..."

"Hey. Hey, I'm back."

Castiel opened his eyes.

Dean smiled reassuringly. "See? Right here. When are you going to get it through your head that I'm not leaving you? I'm the reason you're in this mess in the first place."

"The choice was mine... and mine alone." Castiel supposed he would have sounded braver if his vessel had not decided at that moment to start coughing blood.

"Cas." Dean put an arm behind him and pulled him up into a sitting position. He moved onto the bed and rested Castiel against his chest. Cas could hear the slow reassuring thump of his heart beat. Strong and sure and real. Like Dean himself. "Come on man, don't pull a Jimi Hendrix on me."

Castiel had no idea what that meant.

"We got some help coming. I asked the guy at the front desk if there was a doctor in town who can help you out in the interim it takes to get an ambulance out here. We got a veterinarian. Same difference."

Castiel coughed again and his head drooped forward.

Dean gently patted his back. "Hang in there."

There was a tightness to his voice that Cas picked up on even in his half-conscious state. Dean's veneer was starting to break. He was worried. Cas wondered if that meant he should be worried about himself. Things started to seem far away, foggy. He felt a certain detachment from his vessel. _This is good._ The pain began to ebb a little.

Dean laid Cas flat on his back and leaned over him. Castiel's eyes were glassy and unfocused. "Hey," Dean grabbed a couple of pillows and propped them under the angel's legs. He moved back up to his friend's head and leaned in close. " _Cas_. Hey... stay with me."

Cas' eyes started to drift shut.

" _No_." Dean put all of the authority into his voice that he could muster. "You do _not_ get to check out right now, man. Open your eyes!"

The blue eyes focused momentarily on Dean's worried face. "That's it. Talk to me, dude."

Castiel's lips parted. "About what?"

"Anything. Tell me why you dress like a tax accountant fucked Columbo."

 _"What?"_

Dean snorted, put his hand in the dark hair. "Doesn't matter... Tell me your name."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "You know my name." His voice was groggy.

"Shut up and _tell_ me." Dean moved his hand back and forth along his friend's temple, stroking with his thumb like he used to do when Sam was sick as a child.

"...Castiel."

"Who am I?"

"This is ridiculous, Dean."

"No, you dying of _shock_ is fucking ridiculous. Listen to me. You hang in here until the vet gets here with horse tranquilizers or rabies shots or whatever the hell you need."

"I don't think..." Cas began, his voice trailed off for a moment and he took a gasping breath. "That I have rabies."

"Hoof and Mouth Disease then."

"Now you're just amusing yourself." Castiel felt Dean's thumb begin to move in gentle circles along his temple again. The action brought a muzzy thought to the surface. _This_ was Dean. Not the hardened killer he'd been sculpted into, but the paternal fingers rubbing circles along his temple. This is what he felt underneath all the pain and violence and guilt when he'd touched his soul to pull him from Hell. He wanted to tell him so but couldn't speak.

He heard the soothing rumble of the voice and knew Dean was talking but couldn't make out the words. _Dying._ He was dying but if his friend was here, soothing him, hand in his hair, it seemed okay. There were worse ways to go then surrounded by a comrade-in-arms...by a _friend._


	4. Chapter 4

The veterinarian was old and grizzled and made Bobby Singer look like a fresh faced prom date. He'd listened to Dean's run down on Castiel's condition, taken one look at the unconscious man and fixed Dean with a suspicious glare. "What are you guys into? This wasn't any normal mugging. This man has been systematically tortured. I ain't seen wounds like this since...Nam." He stood up from bending over the bed and shook his head, the fishing cap he wore shaded his eyes. "He's gone into hypovolemic shock. He has massive internal bleeding. Can't help him. He needs a hospital."

Dean narrowed his eyes. The muscle jumped in his jaw. "In case you haven't noticed, it's a white out out there."

The old man snorted. "Just drove in the bitch to get here. Think I noticed, kid."

"You can't just leave him like this." A surge of panic began to send the hunter's heart into double time.

"I can and I should. I'm not gonna get my veterinary license revoked and my ass sent to jail for meddling when this guy's gonna die anyway."

"We can buy him time!" Dean's tone turned a bit desperate.

"He ain't got time. His vitals are crashing."

Dean approached slowly until they were nose to nose. "Get him on an IV. Now." A dangerous note crept into his voice.

The old man didn't seem intimidated. "IV ain't gonna do much without surgery-"

Dean drew his gun from the back of his waistband and cocked it. "Fix him now or _you're_ going to need surgery, you got that?"

Dr. Paul Weeland raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Okay. No reason to get excited here." His tone was unperturbed but cautious.

"Fix him. If it doesn't work you can say you did it under duress. No charges against you. I'll go to jail instead."

Paul shrugged his shoulders. His voice was neutral. "Fine, let me get my equipment."

* * *

"Dean?" The foggy question arose as Dean and Paul were wrestling off Castiel's ripped, bloodstained dress shirt and coat. He'd been limp and unresponsive until they started moving him around.

"Here, Cas. Right here."

"What's happening?"

 _Oh nothing, just stripping you naked so an old guy can stab you with things,_ floated into his head. "Just taking care of you." Dean watched as the vet sterilized the bend of Cas' elbow. "We're setting up an IV, okay?" He didn't even know if the Angel knew what an IV was, although he'd been at Dean's bedside when he'd been hospitalized, so at least he'd _seen_ them before, even if he didn't know what they were called.

Paul slid the large bore needle in, frowning in concentration. Cas barely responded.

"Okay," Paul taped the line in place and hung the bag off headboard. "We've got fluids in place."

"What else can we do?"

"I'd like to get him into a change of pants, something clean, loose and easy to access. You got something like that?"

Dean nodded, he had a grey pair of string drawn sweats in his duffel. "Yeah." He leaned over and starting digging through the disorganized mess in his bag. He heard the quiet clink of Cas' belt buckle. _Oh god. This is way above my paygrade,_ he thought, finally finding them.

When he stood up, Paul had already cut through the pants with a pair of scissors. "He ain't gonna wear these again anyway. May as well do this the easy way." He peeled the fabric away; Dean took a breath. Cas' knees were bruised. His hips and pelvic cavity were lacerated and angry looking. The vet shook his head. "That's internal bleeding. That's swelling. That's deep shit, right there." His voice was sandpaper and his eyes dark with some half-remembered horror. "They worked him over good. Help me get those on him."

Dressing a limp 170 pound man was less fun than it sounded. Dean pulled the fabric up around Cas' hips and left the drawstrings loose.

"Okay, now we keep him warm. Monitor his vitals. Keep him calm. Keep him as alert as we can. That means you do this, I need to think what options we have here."

Dean pulled blankets over Cas' torso. "How are you buddy, you cold?"

Cas' eyes fluttered slowly. "Little."

Dean added his coat over top of the pile and glanced at the iv bag. "Okay." He pulled a chair up next to the bedside and settled into it with a groan, stretching out one leg. "We got some help. Your job is just to hang on, okay?"

Castiel made a sound of acknowledgement in his throat. Dean forced a smile. "I mean come on, you been through worse than this, right?"

"No."

"No? Warrior like you fighting for thousands of years, _come on, Cas_." He didn't care if the vet heard him. He clearly already thought he was a psychopath.

"Human vessel..." a gasping breath "...different...pain different. Dean...I think... I am frightened."

"Oh." Dean hesitantly put his hand on the bare shoulder. "I'm right here. We already got an IV line in ya." He squeezed gently. "It's okay."

"Dying..."

" _NO._ Do _not_ say that!" The voice was stern and gruff. "Not an option, so you keep your ass in this vessel, you got that you feathered asshole? We need you. We _need_ you. We aren't winning this war without you. You chose your side and it's ours, so you follow this through to the end... _you hear me?_ "

"Yes."

Dean looked up. Paul was doing his best to look like he was ignoring the exchange although he _had_ to have heard. He grunted as he sorted through the black medical bag he'd brought into the motel room with him. "Could have been watching TV. Or reading a book." He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Dean "or taking a shit. Anything but stuck here with this mess on my hands."

Dean dropped his gaze. "Well I'm sorry." His face softened along with his voice. "Kinda don't have a lot of options here, you know?" Dean cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders. "He's my best friend, man. We been through a lot together."

Paul grunted. "Stow it." But his tone was softer too. "I'm going to start him on an antibiotic." He moved to Castiel's side as he said so, fiddling with the IV port.  
"Then we'll clean what lacerations we can." He wiped a weathered hand across his brow. "I'll put a few stitches in the deeper ones. And...I don't know what to do about that internal bleeding. I'm not exactly set up for field surgery here."

"Well, what would you do for a dog in his shape?"

Paul raised a gray eyebrow. "Shoot it."

Dr. Weeland finished with the IV and bent over Cas with a stethoscope, listening to his chest. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh that good, huh?" Dean asked.

"His vitals are shit. His heart is barely hanging on, his lungs have fluid." He moved his hand down to Cas' stomach and pressed a little. "Something doesn't feel right over here."

Cas cried out.

"Okay. Easy now, son. I know..." to Dean, "He's in pain. Can't give him anything. Don't want to tax his liver and kidneys more than they are." He closed his eyes and Dean saw a wave of distress cross the rugged features. He patted Cas' chest gently and pulled the blankets back over him, turned to the younger hunter.  
"He's barely hanging on."

"I think you've already impressed that upon me."

"I need you to know this. I need you to remember that no matter what we do it may not be enough."

Dean swallowed. "It'll be enough." _I've lost everything. I can't lose him too_.

"Kid..."

"It'll be enough, okay?!" The explosion of emotion took Dean himself aback more than it did the vet.

"This will be painful and slow." Paul continued unabashed. "I've seen this before. Man can last days suffering. Trying to intervene might be crueler than just letting him go to sleep. I can give him some meds to kind of push in the right direction."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "We are _not_ putting him to sleep like a friggin _dog_." He looked over to Cas' unnaturally pale face. His dark hair ruffled and fallen over his forehead. The perpetual five o clock shadow. The silent delicate features. He looked strangely like an Angel. Not the dick bags Dean had come to know as Angels, but the ones carved into marble statues. Castiel had chosen his vessel appropriately.

"Help him."

Paul shook his head, telegraphing his disagreement with the set of his husky shoulders. "Fine."

* * *

Dean took Cas' face in his hands and forced the Angel's gaze in his direction. "Look at me, Cas. Don't look at him."

Cas' blue eyes automatically shifted to a point behind Dean's head. " _HEY! Look at me._ "

Cas' breathing was still shallow and growing more rapid. " _Oh! No! No! Dean!_ "

Dean felt his stomach twist at the cry, which ended on a suppressed sob.

"Okay, son. Okay." Paul said just before he cursed. "You gotta hold still, kid." His hands were starting to shake a little. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Stop! Mercy!" Cas' rapidly heaving stomach was complicating the job.

Paul twisted the forceps a little until he could feel that he had hold of the object buried in the younger man's abdominal wall and slowly began to extract it. Cas screamed again, twisting away.

"Hey!" Paul's voice had an edge of panic. It was a delicate situation, movement a little to the right or left might hit organs.

Dean threw his full weight over the patient and pinned him bodily. "Okay." He said between gritted teeth. "Hurry up!"

"I'm going as fast as I can. Believe me, I need a drink." Finally, he pulled out the two inch long thin metal spike and dropped it on the steel tray propped next to him. Cas was moaning and panting.

"Here." Paul wadded up a clean cloth and pressed it over the freshly bleeding wound, he grabbed Dean's hand with his gloved one, heedless of the blood he was smearing on him and pressed it down firmly over the cloth. "You need to hold this." He stripped off his gloves and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door.

Cas had broken into sobbing. "Hey," Dean kept one hand pressed over the cloth and cupped the back of Cas' neck with the other. "Cas. Calm down." His voice was soothing. He started to rub circles on the knotted cervical muscles with his thumb. "Calm down. Shhhh. _Shhhhh_..."The second shush lilted upward. "It's okay. I _know_." Dean watched Cas' Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Look man, you're freaking out the doctor." He gave an unamused, hollow laugh. "I mean that takes skills. You've probably got him going all _Saving Private Ryan_ in there."

Cas pressed his lips together and a tear coursed down the side of his face and disappeared into his messy dark hair.

"I know," Dean said again, his voice thick. "Everything's all new and scary and then you're being pinned down by guys torturing you with sharp objects...and that's just since I rescued you." He forced a smile. "You're doing good. You're doing real good. I'm proud of you, buddy. You're one tough bastard even without the Angel Mojo."

"Grace." Castiel croaked. "It's...it's called..."he heaved a breath "... Grace."

"Okay." Dean patted his forearm. "Whatever you call it. You're doing good without it. Just keep breathing. You gotta do that, man."

"Dean, it _hurts._ "

"Yeah. Yeah. I got the memo on that. I think you've made it pretty loud and clear. You've even got your doggy doctor over there having flashbacks and yakking his brains out over it. " He swallowed. "You've almost got _me_ yakking, and it takes a whole Hell of a lot to bother my stomach."

"I...it's all... new to me...I..." His voice was weak and more gravelly than normal from screaming. "Every sensation..." he seemed to be searching for the words "it's. ..overwhelming...I don't understand...how...to cope...when it gets bad I can't...think."

Dean shook his head fondly. "That's how it works, buddy. Pain gets bad enough there is nothing besides it. There's no way to cope."

"If I make it...I...want...to heal...people. I don't want to fight. I want to help."

"That's nice. But we need you smitey and mean in this war, Cas. We're stopping the apocalypse here."

"Dean, I will always put you back together when I can."

Dean felt a lump rise to his throat and he blinked down sudden tears. He used his free hand to grasp Castiel's forearm. "I know you will."

The bathroom door opened and Paul walked out looking more or less composed but a shade more grim than before. If that was possible. He wandered back to his spot, shouldering Dean out of the way. His eyes glanced to the tray. "What the hell was that?" He asked, slipping on a pair of new gloves with the sound of snapping latex.

Paul picked it up and rotated it in the light.

Dean narrowed his eyes, giving rise to an entire network of lines he would more than likely wear permanently as he aged. "I dunno is driving a metal spike into someone that uncommon in torture?"

"No. It was hitting a nerve cluster, no surprise there. What's odd is this crap on the sides."

"Huh?" Dean looked up and noticed the strange symbols carved down the side.

Heedless of the gore, he took it from Paul's hands and put it in front of Castiel's face. "Cas. Do you recognize this?"

"Enochian." He said in response.

"Why am I not surprised? Let me guess, it wishes extra fun pain on you."

"Pain is not fun in my experience. The sigils neutralize Grace. Make it harder to heal."

Paul was looking at them with an expression of skeptical horror. "You two into witchcraft or something?"

Dean set the spike down on the tray. "Nope." It made a small clink as he released it. He smiled, "it's complicated."

"I don't want to know."

"Believe me, you don't."

* * *

Paul removed the cloth. "Okay, I'm going to put a few stitches in here and I think we're through with this part. It's a good thing I noticed that spike."

"You have no idea." Dean said.

"Something like that left inside the body is very dangerous."

Paul looked to Cas' drawn face. "Are you ready, son? This shouldn't hurt as much as digging around in here did."

Cas looked up lazily. "Y..es." He mumbled.

"Okay."

He began suturing, Castiel's breathing caught on a groan, his jaw tense. Dean was next to him. Calmly muttering assurances. "You know I'm always going to try to put you back together again too. My method just sucks more."


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel's brow furrowed and Paul lay a wind chapped hand across it. "You just rest here, son."

It was a hand used to hard work. The old man closed his eyes and Dean saw an expression of pain flit across his features. It was replaced by a businesslike manner as he checked the IV bag and stepped over to where Dean stood like a worried parent.

"How is he?" Dean asked.

Paul shook his head. "He's what I'd call expectant."

Dean glanced to Castiel. "Hear that, Cas? You're Expecting. I didn't even know you were pregnant."

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "It means..."

"I _know_ what it means," Dean answered gruffly. "I don't think he needs to hear it is all."

Paul took off his fishing cap and flopped onto an overstuffed armchair. It smelled like stale cigarettes. "Whatever you two are mixed up in... get out before you end up like your friend."

Dean smiled sadly. "You don't have any clue how much I wish I could."

"You in that deep?"

"Yeah." He nodded and swallowed. "I'm in with both feet and sunk up to my neck."

Paul shook his head. "Sorry, kid."

"Me too."

Castiel's whimper cut through their conversation and both men winced. The muscle in Paul's jaw clenched. "Maybe I should give him some pain meds."

"Will they compromise his chances?"

"He's already dying, kid."

"You heard me."

The vet put his hat back on. "Well it might tax his liver and kidney functions a bit."

"Then the answer is no." Dean's tone was firm.

"Pain doesn't help anything either, you know."

"Ahhhhh!" Cas whimpered again.

Dean steeled himself. "I just need to buy him time."

"For what? He's _dying_ , Dean. It's painful. Listen to him."

"I _hear_ him, okay?" Dean didn't mean to shout.

Paul looked up. "I'm going to give him some more fluids, that's about all I can do right now to try to stabilize him." He walked back over to his patient and rolled the clamp shut with his thumb. He detached the empty bag and begin to replace it. A fine trembling was running through Castiel. Paul paused and watched him a moment, then attached another lactated ringer bag and loosened the roller clamp on the line to let the drip resume.

He put his stethoscope to Castiel's chest. A look of alarm crossed his face.

"What?" Dean was over in a second flat. Hovering.

"His heart. His vitals are crashing."

Castiel's breathing was shallow.

"He's going back into shock. We're losing him."

"Do something!"

"I can't."

"Bullshit! Do something! _Anything_ , Paul!"

Paul stilled for a moment. "I'll be back I'm going to the truck."

"Cas, can you hear me? You _stay_ here! Do _not_ leave!" Dean took the face in both hands. "Castiel, open your eyes."

Cas' breathing hitched. His eyes opened for a moment- unfocused. His mouth parted as he struggled to heave in a breath. Dean tilted his head back to open the airway.

Paul burst back in with a large black medical bag and slammed the door behind him as a gust of wind brought in a swirling torrent of snow. He shook the flakes off himself and rifled through his bag. "Move over, Dean. I'm guessing on the dosage based on weight. Usually use this on dogs."

He injected the needle into Castiel's IV line. "Epinephrine. Let's see if we can get his blood pressure up."

Castiel arched up off the bed with a cry, his eyes wide with panic.

Dean took his hand.

Paul pushed down on his shoulder. "I know. I know. It feels horrible. It's okay. It'll pass in a minute."

Castiel's face crumpled and his composure broke. "I don't want it... I want it.. to stop! _Dean! Dean_!" He twisted and fought for a moment.

 _"Hey._ Hey, Cas." Dean leaned very close and locked the angel with a stare. "This is it. This is part of Being Human... You can't stop the ride, man. You have to bear it out. There's no choice."

The angel seemed like he was trying to process Dean's words. Cas' hands were shaking. "It's just adrenaline, Man. Fight or flight." Dean soothed. "That's all. That's all. Calm down."

"But I..." Cas whined somewhere in the back of his throat like an injured dog. "Dean...I ...don't want to be in this body."

Dean rubbed his thumb across the back of Cas' hand. "No choice, buddy."

Cas calmed a fraction, his brow furrowed in confusuion. The Angel's jaw trembled as he spoke. "What is happening?"

"I told you. Its just panic. It's just adrenaline." Dean squeezed Castiel's hand.

Paul slipped his own hand into Cas' other palm. Castiel's blue gaze shifted to the old veterinarian. They both stood like sentinels next to his bed, steady and calm, anchoring the ailing man. Dean watched Cas' face release a little of its tension. "See, we gotcha." He whispered.

For a moment a look of wonder crossed Castiel's features before the pain over took him. He squeezed his eyes shut as a tear weaved down the side of his face in a lazy meandering arc to wet his hair.

Dean felt sick. He let go of Cas and staggered away for a second, put his hands on his knees and panted a few breaths.

Paul kept a hold of Cas but looked up. "You okay?"

Dean shook his head. "I need some air."

"Well you be careful out there, son, it's a damn white out."

Dean nodded and struggled with the door. It blew violently in at him, almost knocking him off with his feet. He had to get out. He could not hear one more cry or whimper or heaving breath from Castiel. Could _not_ hear Cas call his name like he had any power to fucking _do_ anything about _anything._ He'd been stoic so many times when Sam had needed him... when Sammy had been twisted in pain and calling for him. And it was _hard._ It was so damn hard, but he'd managed.

This was draining him somehow. Sammy had never been systematically tortured. Sammy _knew_ what was going on. Was intimately familiar with pain. Cas was like a baby. All full of confusion and anxiety and utter _need._

Dean finally got the door slammed behind him and squinted into the snow. He looked at the pristine whiteness gathered around his feet. Covering all of the dirty cracks in the sidewalk. Making everything new and chaste and pure.

He vomited all over it.

He watched the bile burn through the quilted whiteness and wiped his mouth, blinking furiously. It would be so easy to just lie down in this blanket of ice and close his eyes. Go to sleep. It was so hypnotic.

The door opened. "He's asking for you, son."

Dean closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. "I... I can't."

"Don't make me come out there, boy." He sounded so much like Bobby.

"I can't!" Dean shouted back.

"You know what?" Paul was struggling to keep the door open in the wind. "He's alive _because_ of you. He's _suffering because of you_. So you get your ass in there and talk to him! You wait with him. You fucking owe him that!"

"I don't know what to do."

"You hold his hand. You hug him. You talk to him. You do whatever the hell you have to do to make him feel not alone. To break through that pain because I'm telling you, he's in a ton of it."

Dean closed his eyes and his lower lip trembled for a second while he struggled for composure.

"MAN UP! Get in here and take care of him."

Dean swallowed and opened his eyes. He caught Paul's gaze and nodded.

 **I love reviews and am in desperate need of them. So please dash one off and feed my addiction.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Special thanks to Alex Hamato who owrked pretty extensively on this chapter with me.**

Cas' breaths were painful to listen to. They made Dean's chest constrict. He sat down on one of the old sofa seats across the room and put his head in his hands. Paul pulled up a chair from across from him, scuffing his boots on the gold shag carpet. "Why people ever thought shag rugs seemed like a good decorating idea is beyond me."

Dean snorted. "Because it was the sixties and everyone was on drugs."

Paul considered the statement. "How are you holding up?"

Dean looked up unsteadily. "How does it _look_ like I'm holding up?"

"Badly."

"Well I'd say that's about accurate." Dean said dryly. His hands were shaking a little. He looked at them in surprise like they belonged to someone else.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "That stress or are you having a problem?"

Dean ran the hand through his shortly cropped hair to steady it. "I need a drink."

Paul held out a flask he had tucked in his plaid shirt. "Here."

Dean took it and took a swing. "Thanks, man."

Paul waved it off. "Eh..."

"No... I mean _thanks_... for everything."

Paul's eyes slid to Castiel. "He seems like a good guy."

"He's the best."

The silence hung between them thick and heavy, punctuated by Cas who even being relatively quiet at the moment with a lull in his discomfort level, was breathing in labored gasps.

"Dean?"

The name floated on the air and Dean handed the flask back to Paul and stood up wearily. "That's my cue."

Whenever Castiel's pain was about to spike, he seemed to call for the hunter-searching for reassurance or Absolution or whatever the hell he wanted from him.

Dean walked over to the bedside. "Here, Cas." He said, voice flat with fatigue.

He wondered if this was how new parents felt being dragged out of bed by a crying infant. Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before he spoke. "What do you need?"

Castiel looked at him, brow furrowing in concentration- eyes momentarily sharp and lucid. "Need?" The angel asked.

"Yes. You called me." Dean's shoulders slumped. "So what is it?"

Cas looked at him in a way that seemed so incredibly _ancient_ and he was suddenly, sharply reminded that his friend was not human. _Friend._ When did that happen? Cas had been a royal dick for much of the time he'd known him and then there had been a turning point. _When?_ When did he come to trust him as much as Sammy? More than Sammy at the moment. _When?_

"Go ahead Cas, tell me."

The scrutinizing gaze continued for a moment more- in that way that made Dean uncomfortable. It was somewhere between Cas seeing his soul and measuring his every expression. It made him feel violated in a weird way. Which _was_ truly weird, as Cas was the one lying half-clothed with IV lines trailing from him and so confused he didn't seem to know where he was part of the time. Though when he had his composure about him, like now, he seemed powerful and almost eerie. Perhaps it was Castiel's remaining Grace peeking through the vessel.

Then the look vanished and Cas was heaving for breath again and choking. The choking was wet and it frightened Dean a little. He looked helplessly to Paul Leeland.

"I'm sorry." The vet's voice seemed a little distant, like he were trying to pull his emotions back from the situation. "Can't do much more for him, Dean."

A vulnerability crossed Dean's features. There was not much anyone could do for him. He was used to hearing that. It didn't make it any easier. It seemed like every life line he thought he had grabbed onto snapped or sank-or worse-tangled him up and dragged him under the waves. Losing Castiel felt like the third option.

Cas' hand reached out blindly and fisted into the fabric of Dean's flannel shirt. Dean let the suffering man drag him closer. "What do you need, Cas?" He asked patiently.

"Cold..." he whimpered.

"Okay. You want more blankets?"

Cas shook his head.

"Okay, then what?"

"Dean."

"Yeah."

His grip was shaking on the hunter's plaid. Dean remained hunched over until his back started to protest and he pried Cas' fingers loose and stood up.  
"I don't know what you want, buddy."

"He wants _you._ " Paul replied from across the room.

"My father is...angry with me." Castiel whispered.

 _Dude, no offense but your Dad's a dick._ "No, he isn't Cas. He's proud of you. An Archangel smote the shit out of you and you're still here."

"Maybe... Lucifer brought me back."

Dean glanced at Paul who had a raised eyebrow but said nothing. Probably thought the two were tripping balls. He couldn't worry about that right now.

"Don't even consider that." Dean crouched beside the bed so that he was eye level.

Cas turned his head to look at him. His expression was sad. Lonely. Dean brushed the dark bangs off of his friend's forehead. How weird to think that the freaking Angels were as clueless about the existence of God and His will as Humanity was. _Great job, asshat_. No wonder the world was screwed.

"You're the only one of those assholes worth anything."

Cas gave him a look of reproach.

"Hey, don't get defensive for the dicks."

Cas closed his eyes against another wave of pain. "I don't like this feeling."

"Dude you were tortured-no one likes that feeling. That's why it's called torture."

"My stomach...my _insides!"_

Dean looked helplessly to Paul. "He says his stomach hurts. What's wrong?"

"He had a spike driven into his Celiac nerve cluster. He's filling up with internal bleeding and blood is pressing on the organs. I would think it hurts. I know that this seems to be escaping you but I don't even think the average person would be alive right now. Let alone speaking." He gave Dean a pointed look. "He's had a lot of trauma, boy."

Dean swallowed hard and stood up.

Paul's face was pained. He approached slowly, shrugging his heavy canvas coat on his shoulders. "Hey son. I'm going to see if I can even begin to dig my truck out." He leaned over and touched Cas' forehead with a couple of weathered fingers. It was a strangely paternal gesture. He looked up and patted Dean. "Just be here with him." His fingers squeezed the younger man's shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," Dean's voice was thick. "Don't stay out there too long."

Paul paused at the door. "I won't."

Dean had the distinct feeling that the old man was excusing himself to give the two friends time alone.

"He's letting me suffer because I'm being punished." Cas panted miserably.

"That's not true, so shut up!" Dean shot back. "I'm sorry Cas." He softened. "Stop thinking that way, okay?"

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

"For what? You got nothin' to apologize for."

"I...don't...think...I can stay." Cas could hardly get the words out.

"No! Cas do NOT say that. You're staying with me. You're fighting beside me, you got that? I ain't got nothing left if you go, man. I'm so tired. I'm just fucking done."

"The Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can end it."

"I told you. It's not me. How am I even righteous?" There was a panicked expression in the green eyes. "That's like some kind of a cosmic joke."

"The cosmos has no humor."

"Neither do you, buddy." Dean said with affection.

"I see you." The intensity was back in the gaze. The remote power, but laced with a strange look of compassion.

"Uh yeah. Right here, Cas." Dean replied, completely uncomfortable with being laid bare.

"You, Dean... I see _you_... not this broken shell...you."

"No offense, but I think you're the one with the broken shell right now." The hunter's tone was tender.

Cas tried to smile but it twisted into a grimace.

There comes a point, no matter how deep the denial, that it occurs to you that you are losing the battle. Somehow something in Cas' expression tugged at the corners of Dean's paper thin illusion and started to peel it away. Dean rallied instinctively against the feeling. "No. No Cas. Breathe. Little breaths, okay."

He pulled Cas upright and slid behind him on the bed, the other man's weight heavy against his chest. "That better, huh? You just keep fighting. Keep breathing."

Cas broke into panting whimpers at the movement and his breath stuttered and paused as he rode out the pain, brow creased.

"You gotta breathe for me, buddy."

Cas cried out and tried to pull his knees up into a fetal position.

"Shhhh. Breathe."

Castiel whimpered again. "Dean?" His voice was frighteningly weak.

"Hey, no you hang on, Columbo." Dean yanked the IVs loose and gathered Cas up into a seated position. "Come on, man."

He felt a wave of panic as Cas' eyes rolled backward and shut.

"No! Castiel!"

Cas' head tilted forward and Dean pulled the angel into a desperate embrace. _Limp._ He'd gone limp.

"No. No! Cas!" That horrible scene at Cold Oak played in his head. And it was Sammy's broken body that he cradled. Lifeless. Broken. As lifeless and broken as Cas suddenly seemed. Dean bit back a sob, felt a last shudder run through the body and then... silence. Dean held on so hard that he felt the air being pushed out of Cas' lungs and out of his slightly parted mouth.

The breath brushed against Dean's neck like a goodbye.

 **TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

_Cas' head tilted forward and Dean pulled the angel into a desperate embrace. Limp. He'd gone limp._

 _"No. No! Cas!" That horrible scene at Cold Oak played in his head. And it was Sammy's broken body that he cradled. Lifeless. Broken. As lifeless and broken as Cas suddenly seemed. Dean bit back a sob and felt a last shudder run through the body and then... silence. Dean held on so hard that he felt the air being pushed out of Cas' lungs and out of his mouth. The breath brushed against Dean's neck like a goodbye._

* * *

"No! _No!_ " He shouted next to the Angel's ear and leaned his head against Castiel's. "You can't leave me alone here. Please don't leave me alone."

Cas felt so light and... small. So small. Smaller than he'd been a few hours ago, like the very _life_ in him somehow took up space in the world. Dean sat like that for the space of several minutes. His arms trembled with the effort of suppressing his emotion. His chest hurt like a physical wound, like something heavy and broken lay inside him pressing against his sternum. He'd gotten so used to the weight. So numb to it, until his life added another burden and another.

Each one, an extra pound. And now Cas. He hugged his friend with a choked sob, and then forced himself to lay Castiel back down. The body flopped onto its side. Without the power there, he looked strangely like Jimmy Novak.

Dean stood up on legs that felt like they couldn't support him. He suddenly couldn't look at the silent, still body on the bed.

 _I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

Dean splashed water on his face, trying to get his breathing under control. Cas. Cas gone. He absently touched his bicep. The one with the scar Castiel had left.

 _What's the matter? ...You don't think you deserve to be saved._

A lump rose in his throat.

 _My superiors have decided I've become too close to my charges..._

 _I did it- all of it- for you._

So much gravity in the voice, like it had the import of Heaven behind it.

Dean thought of Cas pulling him away from Zachariah's nightmarish glimpse of a Croatoan future. He'd never been so glad to see his friend. _"Don't ever change."_

He dove for the toilet bowl and spat whiskey and bile. He was trembling so hard he couldn't move, kneeling like someone in supplication. The porcelain throne was only God he'd ever kneeled before.

He couldn't do this. He could _not_ go out there and see the frail, limp body.

He took his frustrations out on the bathroom door- kicked it again and again. He wanted to rip it right off the hinges and hurl it out the window.

"Hey! Easy son!" Somehow Paul had re-entered without him noticing. Probably shouldn't have been a shocker since he was busy making noise bashing his boot through the wooden door. If this had been a Modern Hotel and not an ancient one, he probably would have punched through a mass produced hollow piece of shit in one shot. However, being that the hotel was built in the fifties, the door had stood up surprisingly well to some of the beating, taking quite a few blows before it splintered under Dean's boot.

Paul reached his hand out and seized Dean's plaid, pulling him away from the bathroom. "Son! He's gone."

Dean yanked his arm out of the vet's grasp, his lip curled into a snarl like a wounded animal. "I know that!"

Paul gestured to the bloody knuckles on Dean's hand "Don't add bodily injury to this, kid."

He closed in. Dean backed up, uncomfortable with the man's proximity. He looked like he was contemplating an embrace.

"Don't touch me, please." The hunter's voice was husky, desperate

Paul stopped his advance. Put his hands up in a placating gesture. "It's okay... the pain is over. It's over."

Dean swallowed and his jaw trembled, a tear coursing down his cheek. "Oh the pain is just beginning."

"For him. For him it's over. He's in heaven now, son."

"That's the last place he is. I'm certain of it."

"Son," he was suffering so badly. "Even if he'd made it, we're talking kidney failure, infections, surgeries, complications. You need to understand this, Dean."

"Paul," a tremor ran through Dean's frame. "I know you're trying to help but I'm... he swallowed at the lump in his throat. I'm pissed right now and...leave me alone before I hurt you, okay?"

"Okay, son." The vet's tone was patient. "Not really far I can go in this blizzard. Need me to go sit in the truck?"

Dean let out a half-hysterical laugh as he realized the absurdity of his own request. His life was so fucked. "Do what you want, man."

He was swept into a crushing embrace. "This is what I want."

Dean didn't fight it. Laid his head against the old man's shoulder for a moment and fought tears.

Paul let him go. "I'm gonna give you a moment."

He went back out into the storm.

Dean looked to the body. So still...so quiet. He approached cautiously. "Cas?" He whispered. "Cas? _Please._ " He swiped at a tear. "Please, man."

 _I raised you from perdition._

It didn't matter if he was under orders and he took a whole freakin garrison of Angels with him. It had been _Cas_ who had pulled him out. _Cas_ who had reached him. And later it had been Cas who tried to come through, Cas who had offered some small measure of comfort. -Even if it was misguided and completely ass backwards half the time...he had tried.

Cas had betrayed heaven for him. And this is where it led. Another loved one dead, sacrificing themselves on the altar of Dean Fucking Winchester.

Dean crumpled onto the floor next to the bed and stared fixedly at the opposite wall with its shitty 60s wall paper. He wished he'd just fucking die. That an angel would come and smite him. He wouldn't even have fought it.

Another friend dead on his watch.

"Cas." The name hurt to say. He bowed his head, "Cas. Cas, please get your feathery ass back down here." He paused, as if waiting for a response. Then louder. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I need your help. I'm so sorry! _I'm fucking sorry, alright!_ "

Another pause and then a soft exhale that Dean gave, almost a whisper. "Oh, _Cas._ "

* * *

Castiel was in horrible pain. Pain that shot through his entire vessel and made him make noises from the back of his throat. Made his vessel weep and twist and cry out. Dean was moving him and that hurt even more and then his friend was hushing him and telling him lies and then there was... _Nothing._

He was in pain again. But it was different this time. There was a disorientation where it didn't feel like he had lost time and yet something told him he had. The pain wasn't physical at the moment. It was something else. Perhaps he was _hearing_ pain... not feeling it. Yes. That was it. He was _hearing_ someone else in pain. It was familiar...

Dean? Dean's voice. Deep and wrecked and raw.

 _Cas._ His name was dragging him back into existence. His name. _Not his name._ His name was Castiel. Had always been Castiel, until Dean had spontaneously nicknamed the angel Cas in the beginning of their acquaintance. He hadn't quite known what to think at that moment, hadn't known if it arose from affection or disrespect. Possibly both. One could never tell with Dean.

 _Cas. Cas_. It had been spoken so many times. With affection. With anger. With desperation. With solidarity. And now. Now it was with _grief._ Now it had a weight to it, a broken, rasping heavy weight to it that he'd never heard before. Like the name itself brought pain. He wanted to soothe the pain. Needed to help. Help Dean Winchester.

It would be much more pleasant to go back to nothing.

"Cas." There was the name again. Castiel felt himself slide back into his vessel, like putting on an old suit.

He cracked his eyes open and drew a quiet breath. There was pain here. Being in the broken body was not pleasant. But it wasn't excruciating at the moment either. He felt some measure of Grace returning-like a partially charged battery or the beginnings of a sunrise. Glinting, glimmering, promising more.

Impressions came to him. Light from the window. The sheets under his body. Dean sitting on the floor next to the bed side, his face buried in the mattress next to Castiel's shoulder. Cas could see the side of his jaw clenched in an expression of utter ruin. His eyes were squeezed shut, his cheek wet in the light. He looked desolate. Cas moved his hand to Dean's head and lightly touched him as if in benediction.

Dean jerked his head up, eyes startled and wide. "Cas?" He half-sobbed the name, disbelief in the voice.

Cas watched his lower lip tremble. "Yes." His voice was gravel. "I'm... here."

"You... you..." Dean dashed away his tears with the back of his hand, only to have more replace them. "You were _dead_ , man. You were gone, Cas... you were really _gone_."

Cas turned his head to lock gazes. "I believe so, yes." He said without emotion.

Dean staggered to his feet, and gaped at the angel, still unable to rein in his shock.

Castiel tipped his head sideways to study him. "Why are you weeping?"

"Because you were dead, dumbass." Dean scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "How...how are you even here?"

"You asked me to come back."

"Well yeah, but... "

"So I am here."

The confusion on Dean's face was profound. Cas winced at some of the pain returning to his vessel and gestured for his friend to draw closer. Dean leaned over the bed. "Yeah?"

"Don't you _understand_ by now?" He asked quietly.

"Understand what?"

Cas reached up and brushed his fingers over the righteous man's temple. Green eyes reflected shock at the tenderness of the gesture, but he didn't pull away. "I always answer your prayers, Dean."

Dean barked out a half-laugh, half-sob and closed his eyes while Castiel watched him struggle to regain his composure.

"Yeah, buddy," he said swallowing hard. "I know you do." He stood awkwardly for a moment and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "You feeling better?"

Cas winced. "Yes... My Grace is slowly healing my vessel. It is still weak, but I can feel it now within me...a small light. But more than a flicker now. More like a candle."

Dean nodded, still looking oddly emotional.

"I think I need rest." Cas said, as if in disbelief.

"Yeah," Dean pulled the blanket up over the angel's chest. "You deserve some rest, Cas."

Cas tilted his head to look at his charge again, measuring the micro-expressions, feeling the weight on him. "You should call your brother."

Dean grew distant. "It's not that easy."

Cas winced again, a tightening of his jaw, a squinting of his eyes. The physical pain wasn't quite as profound as it had been but it was still there. The angel reached a hand out and placed it over the top of Dean's that lay folded near his lap.

The hunter raised an eyebrow. "You going to Propose?"

"Propose what?"

"Never mind." Dean did not pull away.

"Dean... when I was in pain you told me to 'take it easy.' That it was easy. But it was very, _very_ hard." Cas said, remembering the oddity of the expression.

Dean blinked, the puzzlement apparent. "I'm not following your logic here."

Castiel looked through him with eyes like a troubled ocean. "You're in pain. Take it easy, buddy." He said in a fairly decent mimic of Dean's platitudes. "Take it easy and call Sam."

Dean snorted. The corner of his lips tightened into an almost smile. He kept his hand closed into a loose fist beneath Castiel's own. Castiel watched in fascination as Dean thought on his words. He had so much going on inside his heart and mind, it staggered Cas keep up with it.

"You know," Dean said. "Poor Paul is probably camped out in his truck, cursing us out right now."

"He is a good man."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I got that." A flare of emotion lit his features again.

Cas patted the hand beneath his. "Easy, Dean."

Dean shook his head and swallowed hard. "You gotta stop it... That's just creepy the way you say it, Cas." But as he drew away, he squeezed Castiel's hand briefly with his own. "I'm glad you're back, buddy. You get some rest, okay?"

Cas blinked, suddenly obedient like a child. "Okay."

Dean stood up, drew back the curtains, and peered out of the window. The snow had slowed down considerably. "Storm's passing," he observed to no one.

Cas heard the dial tone of Dean's cell. A pause and then a tentative, "S'mmy?" Followed by a launch into "I found Cas... we're in the middle of Idaho in a Goddamn blizzard..." His back was turned to Castiel, hiding everything but the set of the broad shoulders, and the way he had his head bowed, but the emotion was plain in his voice. "He's pretty roughed up..." Dean swallowed, tilted his head and Castiel watched his jaw tremble slightly before he started again, his tone carefully neutral. "But I think he'll be okay now... No. I'm okay, Sammy. I'm okay, just... just taking it easy now." A pause, a crack in his voice. "Taking it easy..."

Castiel wanted to pull himself up, and finally managed to weakly prop himself against the headboard. It took a monumental effort. He watched in silence as Dean made the first cautious attempt to put the pieces of Sam and Dean back together. Cas knew, _knew_ that they could not defeat this foe without the three of them in tandem. They were too weak. _All_ of them were too weak individually. Especially Dean. Cas could sense the beginnings of battle fatigue in the man. A weakness, a _weariness_ that would have made him pull one of his soldiers out of the fight. Except for Dean that wasn't an option. For Dean this was all there was. A fight he could not escape. A fight he was destined for.

And all Cas could do was bolster him up. Pull his own weight and maybe just a little bit of Dean's as well.

Dean ended the call and looked at his phone blankly.

"How is Sam?"

"He's... he's fine."

"He's always ready to forgive, Dean."

"Yeah...but I'm not."

Cas' brow furrowed in consternation. "Pride goes before a foolish man."

Dean smiled. "Never said I was smart." He looked to Cas. "Hey there, Lazarus. I think you need to stay lying down. " He strode over and took Cas' arm.

The angel looked at him in mild surprise. "I'm on the bed."

"-Sitting up. Lie down. I don't need you passing out and falling on the floor or something." Dean took him by the shoulders and eased him down onto the pillow. " _Down_...until your Grace, like, _recharges_ or whatever it does."

Castiel looked up at Dean without guile. "Thank you, Dean."

The hunter's eyebrow raised. "For helping you lie down? Not a big deal there, man."

"You _saved_ me. I was abandoned by everything, by Heaven itself and you came for me."

"What kind of douche would I be to just abandon you? You pulled me out of Hell, Cas."

"I was under orders." Castiel protested.

"You know, I don't care why or how you got me out. You got me out. That's all that counts. I'm out now and it's 'cause of you."

"Friend." Cas said with a hint of wonder. " I thought we were merely allies but we are friends. You're my friend, Dean."

Dean nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Angels do not have friends in the same sense. Friendship is a very human construct."

Dean was still looking at him.

Cas knitted his brow. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, his voice thick. "You done with the philosophy 101, Kant?"

"I'm sorry... I won't speak of it again." Cas said, guessing that something he said had upset his friend.

"You can speak all you want, Cas. I'm just really tired." Dean pulled the sheets over Castiel's chest and gave a faint smile. Smiles were so deceiving. Dean hid so much behind that smile, employed it in so many situations. Rarely was it out of happiness. Strange how a smile could be sad. "Get some sleep."

"I should get some sleep because _you're_ tired?"

"Yes." Dean replied. "All parents do this. That's why nap time was invented."

"That seems... odd."

"Seriously, you should rest. Human bodies need rest."

"And human minds?"

"They need rest too."

Dean started to put his hand on Cas' head, thought the better of it and pulled away. Intimacy was only allowed when very ill, Cas noted in puzzlement.

"I'm going to go see if Paul is okay and try to explain why you're suddenly alive when he comes in. Do me a favor and act sick when you see him."

Cas cocked his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because spontaneous resurrection doesn't happen often in the human world, Cas. Let's tone down the weirdness level from like an 11 to a 5, okay?" Dean grabbed his green jacket off the bed and shrugged it back on.

"Okay."

"And Cas."

"Yes, Dean?"

"Thanks for answering my prayers, buddy." Without waiting for a response, Dean took a deep breath to prepare for the cold, opened the door and stepped outside into the swirling snow. It came down in softly descending flakes to rest upon his shoulders like fallen angels. Cas watched the Righteous Man in wonderment before Dean moved, sending the flakes cascading off of him as he reached over and gently closed the door.

 **The End.**

 **Finally. Special Thanks to Alex for helping me out so much with this one. Please drop me a review, even if you're stumbling upon this way after I posted. I'm always thrilled to hear from readers... and if you liked this, check out my other SPN fics by clicking on my username.**


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